


The devil is a fallen angel

by homesoutofhuman



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 03:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16986894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homesoutofhuman/pseuds/homesoutofhuman
Summary: Inspired by a chat about reader’s fetish for wearing John’s t-shirts and the consequences.





	The devil is a fallen angel

You usually sleep naked, but the summer has turned cool recently and you shiver when you wake up, needing something to wear.

All your clothes lie in a heap in the corner of the room, okay, sometimes you’re lazy, and laundry is always the last thing on your list of things to do.

You open the drawer of John’s dresser where you know you will find a clean, neatly folded pile of t-shirts. You pull one on, dark grey fabric soft against your skin.

It skims your knees, sleeves three quarters down your arms, with plenty of room it hangs comfortably over your chest, making the need for a bra redundant.

Feeling comfortable and happy you move downstairs. John is preparing breakfast, putting bread in the toaster as you enter. The room smells like coffee and the radio is playing faintly.

He doesn’t turn as you enter so you get a chance to get a good look at him, his wide shoulders, strong back.

He’s wearing a white t-shirt and some faded tartan pyjama bottoms that have worn to the shape of his body and god you love his butt.

You sit at the table and only then John turns towards you, placing the plate of toast in front of you. He smiles by way of a good morning, always a man of few words, and you flash a smile back, eagerly tucking into the food before you.

The sunlight beams into the kitchen, warming your face and you purr like a cat as you sip the lovely hot coffee John made for you. You spread the marmalade on your toast and suck your finger into your mouth to catch some that fell from the knife.

John’s shirt slips off your shoulder and after a while you give up on pushing it up, letting it fall half off you, exposing your collarbones and top of your breasts

When you look up John staring at you, his own breakfast forgotten. His eyes are as dark as your coffee and his palms splayed on the table as if to keep them from moving.

“Can you pass the orange juice please?” you ask, giving him a shy smile.

John almost shakes himself, as if from a trance.

“Is that my shirt? His voice is low and precise, and you ignore the warning tone.

“Oh…yes…do you mind? I couldn’t…find anything…”

John just nods at you, processing the information, passing you the jug of orange juice, his eyes are stuck on you, ticking up and down from your face to your chest and you are starting to feel examined.

“And…are you wearing anything underneath my shirt?” John is attempting to keep his face calm but his voice gives him away, cracking a bit and getting impossibly deeper.

You shuffle a bit in your seat, pulling the shirt down to cover the juncture between your thighs

“Not….necessarily.”

John gives a short sharp bark of disbelief

“What the fuck does that mean?”

You shift again, something about him swearing always get to you, and along with his stern tone, it’s starting to make you have less than innocent thoughts about the man next to you.

You’re not sure if John knows this, but he surely sees the blush that creeps up your neck, and the way your eyes go unfocused.

He draws his chair nearer with a scratch over the floor tiles and you wince.

“Let me see.”

You shake your head, clinging onto his shirt like your life depends on it.

He can see your nipples harden underneath and his gaze is heavy on them, not even looking up at your face.

“Let. Me. See. If you’re going to come down here like the disarmingly sinful little thing that you are and walk around in nothing but my shirt I deserve to see the full tempting picture.”

You sigh, unable to refuse him and open your legs, lifting the shirt to give him a clear view of the fact you’re not wearing underwear. John blinks his dark eyes a few times, then licks his lips.

“You look good enough to eat.”

You whimper, aware you are wet and glistening and that John can see it.

“Come sit on my lap baby…”

You rise and re-position yourself on his legs, feeling a hard bulge pressing into you. It rubs pleasurably against your heat and you rock back and forth a few times, humming happily.

John grips your thighs hard and glares at you.

“You’re a little cock tease.”

You bite your lip, which warrants a small slap on your thigh from John ‘’m not…” you argue, pouting in a way you know is only going to bring more trouble.

“You’re sitting here…acting like butter wouldn’t melt in your pretty mouth wearing my favourite shirt…” he accompanies this with a growl and a nip at your ear.

“Probably got a nice wet spot on it now and everything…”

You squirm a bit in embarrassment at his words, but not wanting him to stop talking.

“I should go get dressed myself and leave you here as a punishment…”

He moves as if to stand up.

“No! Please John…” You lean down then, desperately brushing your lips on his, wrapping your arms around his neck and clinging on like a koala.

He indulges you for a few minutes, then grabs your face and turns the kiss dirty, tongue down your throat and ravaging your mouth.

When he finally lets you breathe your lips are bitten red and you know you look wrecked, your hair a mess and his shirt falling even further off your shoulders.

John leers at you, the look in his eye giving you no doubt of the thoughts running through his head.

“Brucio per te” he murmurs, knowing it drives you crazy when he speaks in other languages. You can’t understand him, but the meaning of his words makes it through somehow, and you know, this powerful man is being driven to the edge by you, wearing no makeup and with messy bed hair, wearing his shirt and nothing else.

He moves his mouth to your neck and bites down again and you tip your head back to gasp for air, the pain the tiniest part of what you’re feeling as John slides a large hand up your thigh to cup you possessively.

John leaves several searing lovebites on your neck and chest before pressing his forehead against yours looking deep in your eyes

“Do you know you’ve doomed my soul to damnation if i ever lost you?”

“John…”you whimper, trying to explain he is being dramatic. You don’t know what you’ve done to set him off on this train of thought, but something about you wearing his shirt has made him more protective, painfully fond and the fear of losing you is turning him crazy.

He pushes the shirt up to expose your breasts and moves his mouth to kiss them, biting your nipples which send shock waves straight to your cunt.

“Oh…..John… you whimper…I could come like this”

John seems thrilled by this information, he gasps in a breath and pushes his erection against your backside, selfish for a moment.

“Let’s go back to bed my lover…” you plead, mouth close to his, whispering it like a prayer. But the bedroom is too far away, John needs you now.

He grabs and lifts you, an arm under your butt, sweeping the breakfast stuff away with one long arm as he holds you up, before placing you down on the table. Cutlery clatters to the floor along with a full cup of coffee, and you can’t bring yourself to care.

John too seems to have abandoned caring about anything else but you. His usual control shattering.

“Did you do it on purpose? “ He asks desperately, pulling his own pyjama pants down and freeing himself. He is fully hard and you stare at him, never having seen such a lovely sight. That tempting trail of dark hair leading down from his navel to where he is throbbing for you. He leans over you, checking you are ready. Of course you are, you’re soaking. He bends his dark head to taste you and when he lifts his head his lip is slick with your arousal.

You shake your head, peppering his face with kisses as apology for unintentionally winding him up.

“I just love wearing your clothes…they smell like you…”

He growls and brings his nose to your neck, breathing you in.

“And now they’ll smell like you…like flowers and fucking sunshine…and making me hard every time and what am I supposed to do about it?”

He pushes himself into your hand “You’d leave me hard and wanting you all day like a temptress wouldn’t you?”

“No John…” you choke out, grasping onto him as best you can.

“Little torturess…”he murmurs fondly on your lips “and the worst thing is you don’t even know you’re doing it…”

You push yourself back on the table, spreading your legs, submissive, innocent and debauched, all the things about you that make him lose his mind.

“Please John…sir….make me pay for it…fuck me…”

Your words are making him wild and John pushes his shirt, now rolled up around your neck into your mouth and you stare at him with wide round eyes, your lashes long against your cheeks.

“My doll…made for me hmm?” You can tell he is long gone, his fingers digging into your hips as he pushes further inside you, still it doesn’t seem like far enough for either of you.

You cry into your makeshift gag as he fucks you hard and brutal, brushing against your cervix and making you whimper.

John grabs your legs and pushes them up to your shoulders and you’re glad for all the yoga you’ve been doing, you know he loves to manhandle you around.

He brings his fingers to touch your sopping clit and slides them up and down. The intensity makes you dizzy and you let your head fall back onto the table with a thump, trusting him to keep the rhythm for you both.

He thrusts hard into you once, twice, a groan breaking from his throat, the familiar sound warning you he is close.

He pulls the shirt from your mouth so you can breathe, and after you gasp a few breaths you take the opportunity to speak to him, your words reaching him through his lust filed haze.

“Please…inside me John…want to feel you…love your come inside me…”

With an animalistic groan, his eyes darker than midnight, John gives a final thrust and comes, bellowing out your name as he does so.

Your press your feet together behind his back, feeling your legs shaking as he grinds down on your clit and you come as well, the pleasure flooding your bloodstream like a drug.

He lies on top of you, and you revel in the feeling of being weighed down, his solid and masculine body envelops you and you feel like you could die like this, so wholly swallowed up by him, ceasing to exist as a separate entity, drowning in your love.

But John knows you’re breakable, and he rolls off you, dark eyes taking in the picture of you supine on the breakfast table, pulling his shirt back down over your naked body, eyes glassy with your orgasm, and his come dripping down your leg.

He leans down to kiss you gently, checking with his thorough eyes that you are okay. You’re more than okay, you feel fucked out, floating in bliss, and all this before you’ve even had breakfast.

John chuckles, breaking the tension looking from you to the trashed kitchen.

“Now I’m going to have to clean this up” pretending to be grumpy, he glares at you fondly.

“We’ll do it later…” you hum, climbing onto him like a vine on a tree and he allows it, scooping a hand under your butt and smoothly helping you down off the table.

“For now I think you should come back to bed with me John…you’ve tired me out.”

He sighs, as if long-suffering, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“What did I do to deserve this constant torment? No wait…don’t tell me…I know…”

You look at him with wide innocent eyes and he pecks your lips, a little forceful, but eternally doting.

“Take me to bed then mon ange…”

You pad back upstairs, eager for cuddles from your big solid hitman and he trails behind you, watching your hips swing in his shirt, and knowing that although it feels like damnation to want you so much, the real hell is a world without you in it.


End file.
